


Messy

by amireal



Series: Messy [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen, Sex Pollen non con issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/pseuds/amireal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens because they don’t have a good enough prison to put both of them, let alone two prisons to separate them. The guys who have them know enough about SHIELD to know if you have two trained agents you want them either locked up separate in at least better than average prisons or locked up together in the equivalent of Fort Knox. When SHIELD agents can clearly communicate, the bad guys chances go down hill quickly.</p><p>Or</p><p>It's never a good when the bad guys have to get creative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messy

It happens because they don’t have a good enough prison to put both of them, let alone two prisons to separate them. The guys who have them know enough about SHIELD to know if you have two trained agents you want them either locked up separate in at least better than average prisons or locked up together in the equivalent of Fort Knox. When SHIELD agents can clearly communicate, the bad guys chances go down hill quickly.

The problem, and the guy in charge, Clint is just gonna call him Asshole, actually explains, is that they’re in a temporary facility and it’s not really up to holding two fully trained, enemy combatants. So they have to improvise. When Clint sees the needle, he thinks it’s gonna be something easy, that’ll keep him sleepy and pliant, he’s good with those, it’s a bit like playing darts while drunk and he’s seen Coulson do nearly as well. When the first flush of endorphins hits, he thinks maybe they went a little smarter, some heroin or maybe a classic like morphine. If Asshole can get one or both of them addicted, it becomes a whole new ballgame.

The way Coulson’s eyes widen when he gets a look at the drug label and from Clint’s point of view it’s nothing easy to read like ‘truth serum’ or ‘super deadly addictive drug’ worries him. It’s just a code. Why Coulson knows what that particular code means all sorts of bad things, that he knows it at all means Asshole stole their stock from someplace SHIELD related, which is a whole other issue.

By the time they’re dragged into their would be prison, Clint is feeling very weird and next to him Coulson is giving off the strangest vibe Clint has ever gotten from him.

“Oh good,” Asshole says as they’re dragged in, “the supplies are here.”

Clint squints, all he sees are a couple flats of gatorade and a shrink wrapped six pack of something else. Wait no, there’s wetwipes too. Which, what? It’s getting hard to process. Coulson remains standing, barely moving a muscle, until the door closes with a click of finality.

“Shit,” Coulson hisses, hugging himself tightly.

Clint’s eyebrows climb, that was unexpected. He takes a tour of the room, it’s pretty empty, but not nearly as empty as it should be. There are shelves and some cans and some other odds and ends, even a desk and chair off to the side. Clint still feels pretty clear headed so he’s not sure if the drug is working, only Coulson just _cursed_ and that’s never a good sign.

“Wanna share with the rest of the class?” Clint asks as Coulson takes a closer look at what are supposed to be their supplies. The gatorade makes him happy, escaping while dehydrated is a bitch.

“Extract 6310. The lab guys thought they were being cute when they named it,” Coulson explains, carefully unwrapping their drinks from the shrink wrapped plastic and then moving onto the— wait is that? “Then they saw what it could do to a single human being without— relief.”

“Lube??” Clint asks as Coulson works each bottle open in succession, breaking seals and twisting pumps into place.

“They don’t want to kill us,” Coulson explains moving onto the gatorade, separating out the bottles from the their bindings, cracking a few but not breaking the seals completely, “they just want to incapacitate us for a period of time, the humiliation is just a bonus.” Coulson moves to the package of wipes and reads the ingredients carefully before separating the bulk into smaller packages. “They must have a Costco card,” he mutters under his breath before speaking up again, “they don’t want us permanently injured either, hence the electrolytes, the lubrication and the-” he points to a dark corner where Clint sees the mattress for the first time.

It worries Clint that he missed it at all.

Coulson is striding across the room, setting up stuff near the mattress, but not too close. The room is starting to spin a little, it’s not a bad feeling, but it dulls some of Clint’s perceptions.

“Barton,” Coulson says from his place next to the mattress, he hasn’t turned to face Clint yet. “Clint,” he says, slowly turning, “this is— I meant to so—,” he closes his eyes tightly and wipes his brow. 

Clint is startled, not just because of the slide into first names, Coulson does that when it’s important, but Coulson looks— a little unglued and that _doesn’t_ happen outside of extreme circumstances. “Sir?” Clint falls back on the mission protocols that soothe him the most. “Can we do a sitrep?” What Clint’s asking is for clarification. There’s an itch under his skin and it’s not annoying yet but he’s also unsure of what he’s going to want to do to scratch it.

Coulson nods. “Compound 6310,” he stops and grimaces, “as I said, they were being cute in the labs, 10 in roman numerals is—”

“X,” Clint finishes for him because yeah, he’s getting that now and also he knows the labrats senses of humor. “63X. Wow. That’s bad, even for them.”

“Hill had some choice words,” Coulson agrees, his hands fidgeting tightly. He grimaces and shoves them into his pockets and then looks like he immediately regrets the decision, a flush starting to appear high on his cheek bones, but Coulson sticks to his guns and doesn’t move them again. “As with all drugs, an overdose is, of course, possible, but in general, it’s not _technically_ deadly, or even all that dangerous, when proper precautions are taken.”

Clint deliberately moves his eyes to the gatorade and lube and Coulson nods at Clint’s assumptions. The problem is, if it were only that, Coulson wouldn’t be looking quite so… tense. Clint tries to work it out, the fog of arousal is slowly clogging his brain so he can’t quite understand where Coulson’s discomfort is coming from, it can’t just be from needing to jerk off in the same room? Can it?

Coulson takes a step towards him, it looks almost forced, and then another and another until they’re barely a foot apart, “Barton— Clint,” he says and voice has gone deep, the timbre seeming to resonate right into Clint’s bones and he has to swallow back a whimper and concentrate on Coulson’s words, “the documentation showed that individual subjects would slowly go insane, unable to metabolize the drug before their brains and bodies just… gave up.”

“I don’t,” Clint frowns, absently scratching at the skin on his arms, “I’m sorry Coulson, I can’t— I don’t know what—”

Coulson makes a noise and bites his lip, “I’m sorry, I wish we could—,” he shakes his head, “call me Phil, please, I can’t do this if you don’t—”

“Phil,” Clint rasps, because the permission bursts across his nerves like pleasure filled dew drops.

“Clint,” Coul— Phil returns, “if we work together then—”

Clint stops him with a kiss, he gets it, together is better, and that kiss is fucking amazing, Phil opens up to him like a flower to sun, mouth going wet and pliant, letting little pants out as Clint sucks them up, licking and nibbling and until his lips feel swollen and perfect.

“Wait,” Phil says against his cheek, “I won’t— I don’t—” he makes a frustrated noise, sucks on the the skin under Clint’s jaw hard and draws Clint into fully body contact, their bodies are already limber, waiting, wanting, to curl around another hot pulsing person and dig in for the long haul. They rub against one another, hard, and it’s not even about their cocks, which are stiff and throbbing and Clint’s is very happy with the short little rolls Phil’s hips are making. “..happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” Phil finally utters.

Clint nods, right yeah, they can talk about it later, but first they have to live through it and Clint’s not gonna lie, he’s thought about it. First, superficially, early in his career, when competence was damn sexy and Agent Coulson was sometimes a hard ass but just as often, a nice guy. And then later, with more texture to it, layers of emotions wrapped around comfort and experience made Clint think it’d be good in an entirely different sort of way.

If they’re gonna do it, Clint thinks they should just get down to it because god, he really needs to be pressing into Phil in some way really soon, even if it’s skin to skin. On the other hand, he thinks maybe they should slow it down, make each session last longer so they don’t use up resources their bodies might not be able to replenish. The thought of 4 orgasms in four hours sounds like fun, but at his age, it’s not actually fun.

Clint blinks, and they’re mostly shirtless, Clint’s tac suit is unzipped to the waist and peeled off his shoulders, Phil’s shirt is unbuttoned and pushed aside. He’s not sure when that happened, but Phil has him pressed against a wall and that’s actually pretty nice but they’ve both slowed down a bit. Phil’s lips drag against bits of Clint’s skin and its a delicious feeling even as his hands find perfect places to hold onto Clint. Clint, for the most part, is enjoying Phil’s really broad shoulders, they’ve always been sort of fascinating for him, because they so rarely come out and now his hands can’t stop touching them. But. There’s something.

“My head’s clearer,” he says into Phil’s ear, because it’s there, because clear head or no, he still really wants to pattern it with his tongue. “For various definitions of clear.”

Phil nods, body shaking against Clint’s, who’s shaking as well, but with what he’s no longer sure. 

“The reports,” Phil whispers, “mentioned that clarity seemed to matter to whoever was making the drug and I really didn’t want to think about why anyone would want _anything_ to work this way, but as long as you’re participating the way the drug wants you to, your mind and to a lesser extent your body, stays your own,” the entire speech is said in an octave lower than Phil’s normal voice and it resonates deep inside Clint. It makes him moan, which Phil swallows ravenously.

The kiss, for all its greed, is achingly slow, Phil’s tongue fucking in and out of his mouth is a beacon for all of his senses and Clint can feel each bump and vein as it rubs over his mouth. It’s amazing and he wants it to never stop even though he know it has to, for air, for planning. Clint has ideas now that his brain is clear— he gets distracted by Phil’s hands running down his back for an unending bit of time— okay clearer.

“I’m sorry,” Phil rasps the next time their mouths part enough for more than a few molecules of air, “I’m sorry, I just— you’re so—” he moves to suck on Clint’s shoulder, the occasional nip of teeth making Clint’s hips jump, pressing tantalizingly closer to the heated hardness pressing into him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, not looking up from Clint’s oversensitive skin, the heat of his exhalation burning in the best of ways.

Clint frowns, something isn’t— Phil isn’t just apologizing, there’s something else there, so Clint does the impossible, he focuses on something other than the feel of Phil’s skin under his fingertips and the enticing sparks of energy Phil’s lips incite as they brush against him. Phil is still shaking, trembling. Clint is shaking too, but it’s with repressed need, repressed everything, because he knows they need to work out a plan, Phil is doing something else entirely. “Phil,” he exhales slowly, “look at me, hmm?”

At first, Clint thinks he wasn’t heard, but slowly, Phil’s body tenses and his hands slow to a stop, holding Clint close, but nothing else. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Phil whispers, eyes shut tightly, Clint knows this because he can feel the fanning of eyelashes as they meet in the middle, “Clint, I don’t know how much control I have.”

“I understand,” Clint says letting his own hands wander a little freely, hopefully keeping it just on the side of soothing rather than arousing, “but look, we’re working with it, so we should be able to—”

“There’s a factor they, we, didn’t-couldn’t account for,” Phil says, his shaking starting to reach alarming proportions, “we didn’t get the complete notes, there was only a segment, a single paragraph, from the last section.”

Clint has an idea, a little vague, but an idea of what this might be about. “Why are you so scared?” In his arms, Phil jumps.

“That one paragraph,” Phil says, face tucked away in Clint’s shoulder, “mentioned prior… attachments.”

“What about them?” Clint asks automatically, still reeling a little at what Phil has revealed. Attachment is probably an understatement for it to be throwing him off this badly.

Phil chokes on a laugh and shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

“Ah,” Clint nods, threading his fingers into Phil’s hair, letting the strands run over the pads of his fingertips, scratching back and forth, amused when Phil’s back arches like a cat, even if it’s distracting because it pushes his body into Clint’s in a way that he really, really wants but they need plan before they let go a little and Clint still needs to get Phil to spit out the rest of it. He kisses Phil’s temple, lets them get a little lost in the press of lips and tongue. Of bodies shifting and skin softly scraping against skin.

Phil’s shaking continues, it lessens after their exchange, but it sticks around enough that Clint can still feel it despite the drugging kisses being exchanged.

“We should inventory the room,” Phil says against Clint’s lips just before he’s about to ask his question.

Clint draws away this time and makes Phil look him in the eye. There’s something there, worry, fear, uncertainty, Clint lets it go for now, because unless it’s going to directly interfere it’s not gonna help them at the moment. They clasp hands at first, threading their fingers together and take a few deep breaths before attempting to separate.

It doesn’t work.

They get no more than eighteen inches from each other before one of them whimpers and it takes a few kisses and some hands on skin to make the edge of need go down.

“I’m taller,” Clint says working out how to get them moving and facing the same direction at the same time, “take your shirt off?”

Phil twitches and it’s maybe the first time in a long time that Phil hesitates as long as he does to a request Clint makes of him in the field during a tense situation.

“Phil?” Clint says carefully. Phil’s jacket was lost in the lab where they got their shots and his tie went away somewhere between kisses, the shirt has been unbuttoned for a while so Clint isn’t sure what the problem is. “What’s wrong?”

“After,” Phil says eventually, something in his stance changes, firms up or maybe, slumps down, it’s hard to tell.

“After?”

Phil looks him in the eye, his choice this time and his free hand, still shaking a little, he reaches up to touch Clint’s face, his cheek, “When I have to go back— when I have to never have this again.” He turns away again, look over Clint’s shoulder. “It’s easier when I could say it would never happen.”

Clint thinks whatever this stuff is running through their veins must lower inhibitions along with making them horny as hell. Actually, of course it does, with their kind of luck it’s probably an unintended side affect. It’s hard to find an honest answer inside all of the swirling hormones making his body go crazy but he tries, letting his own free hand reach up to Phil’s cheek, cupping it gently and then leaning in for the softest kiss he is capable of, which isn’t all that soft, but he strokes the delicate skin under Phil’s eye and pulls back carefully. “I’m pretty fond of you too, Phil.”

Phil blinks, a stunned look on his face. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Clint agrees smiling, the trembling has finally begun to truly subside. They touch foreheads briefly, taking in support. It feels like a tiny well of calm in a very large, and horny, storm.

“So,” Phil eventually says, sounding more centered, more calm, more like Phil, “I’m taking my shirt off?”

Clint smiles and nods. Once they’re both on the same page, something about having it out in the open peels away a layer of distraction, it’s easy to work together, Phil slides his shirt off, but manages to leave it in relatively neat heap, and then turns around in Clint’s arms, pressing his bare back into Clint’s chest.

It’s… a little too good for a few seconds. All Clint wants to do is rub his cock onto the firm but yielding thing that is Phil’s ass and savor the press of newly discovered skin against skin. The position also puts Clint in an excellent place to explore the perfect skin between Phil’s ear and shoulder. Clint gets lost in the slightly softer skin under Phil’s chin, sucking on it gentle. It makes Phil’s entire body shudder and push back against him harder.

Clint freely admits, at this point, his concentration is basically shot and it takes Phil’s hand reaching up to tug on his hair to even get his attention. “Right,” Clint whispers, “but you need to stop that now,” Phil arches against him at the implication, but they get moving, staggering toward the first set of near empty shelves on the far side of the room. It takes longer than it should, a lot longer and there are occasional kiss breaks, licking breaks, and one really memorable groping break where Clint learned definitively that Phil dresses left and is circumcised, until that moment he never knew how much he wanted that information.

“We need a fuse,” Clint murmurs into Phil’s hair. They’re standing next to the desk and chair off to the side, pressed chest to chest, arms wrapped firmly around one another. The desk is covered with their findings. It’s enough to create a crude bomb that will get the door off its hinges and to create a couple of handheld weapons, though the rubber band gun is definitely a last resort, there are a few slow burning items that can work as a sort of grenade.

Phil shakes his head and then points to their supplies in the corner, “the wet wipes are alcohol based.”

Clint lets out a shocked laugh. “That’s fitting, really.”

They’ve held off so far, but Clint’s brain is really started to cloud, he’s not sure the aggressive cuddling is going to get him through making homemade explosives. His dick feels practically bruised with sensation and he’s fairly sure the first time Phil, or Clint, gets their hands on it he’s going to explode pretty spectacularly. The way Phil’s hips haven’t stopped twitching for the last few minutes, it’s probably the same with him and oh— he has to squeeze his eyes shut, god that was a good feeling though.

“How long do you think we have?” Clint rasps, it’s time they start talking schedule, because any plan they have will have to take into account— breaks. Yeah, Clint is pretty sure they’ll need breaks.

“I can’t be completely sure of the dosage,” Phil loses track of things for a minute and Clint takes responsibility for that, his hands are wandering, “—the dosage, but if they followed the protocols and it looks like they did, another five hours or so before they check up on us.”

Clint nods. “Would they try and dose us again?”

Phil shakes his head, well, nuzzles Clint’s jawline while shaking his head in a negative manner.

They both stop talking for a little while, busy with other things.

“Phil,” Clint eventually rips their lips apart, “we’re going to have to-”

“I know,” Phil says eyes a little glazed. “I think we can,” there’s a broken moan as their bodies move together, “we can compromise.”

It takes some explaining, punctuated by more moans.

“Have you ever?” Clint asks as they’re sorting it out.

“Once,” Phil says as he grabs a bottle of lube and other supplies, “a long time ago,” he takes a moment to push into Clint’s erection, whining a little, “but god I kind of really want to do it again, right now.”

“Fuck,” Clint crushes his eyes closed, “you can’t say that,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Sorry,” Phil says as they stumble back, “mostly.”

“I’ve got more improvised explosives practice,” Clint says once they’re back at the desk. “I’ve also got more experience… in other ways.”

Phil nods emphatically, not agreeing Clint thinks, just really enthusiastic. Clint understands. “We’re gonna need to,” Clint swallows, “take the edge off?”

“Yes,” Phil says, “please god yes, Clint, I really would like that, a lot.”

After that it’s a whirlwind of hands and buttons and then loud gasps as Clint’s hand wraps its way around Phil’s cock, it’s so hot and tight under his hands it must hurt, he’s about to move when his entire being centers on his own cock. He distantly realizes Phil has found his way into his pants. His entire body throbs in one pleasurable pulse and then he’s holding onto Phil for dear life as everything narrows down to the pleasure bleeding out of him in harsh waves. Next to him, Phil is making sounds that only egg him on.

They’re sweating and shaking and barely holding each other up when it finally ebbs.

“Holy crap,” Clint says, when he gets his breath back.

“Agreed,” Phil nods, wiping his brow and then delicately distributing the wet wipes for cleaning purposes.

For security and convenience, Phil puts his shirt back on, but unbuttoned and no one’s pants actually come off, just to their ankles, their shoes remain on as well. 

“I feel ridiculous,” Phil says as he shuffles into place, the orgasm has given them a bit of leeway, they can maneuver as needed without pretending to be a four arm, four legged, sexually crazed creature, just barely, but they manage.

“This is better than being rescued while naked,” Clint mutters knowingly, finding his seat in Phil’s lap, it’s not the most comfortable, he needs to give Phil enough room to work so he’s almost perched on Phil’s knees, which from his position feel just a bit knobby. “You know what to do?”

The silence behind him is telling.

“Phil?”

Under him Phil starts and his hands move to Clint’s hips, fingers moving restlessly. “Sorry, the view is— Yes. I think.”

Clint leans back and pulls Phil’s arms around him. “Just don’t trying anything complicated without asking first.”

The idea feels like something out of a dumb frat movie, but it’s the best they can come up with. So with a deep breath Clint gets to work and a few seconds later, Phil’s tentative finger, slick with lube, starts circling delicately around crinkled skin. It’s actually less distracting than he thought it would be, but then again they’re still coming back from that massive explosion from earlier.

“Yes,” Clint hisses some minutes later as Phil tentatively pushes in. From there it’s a long drawn out series of strange and conflicting sensations. Phil’s fingers slowly pushing inside him, alternately distracting him and giving Clint the ability to concentrate. 

When Phil finds his prostate, they take their first break with Clint’s back arched sharply, his head resting on Phil’s shoulder begging, “Again?” The sensations stretch like taffy and Phil just brushes past it over and over again until he explodes. Behind him he can feel the knuckles of Phil’s hand moving fast. “No,” Clint reaches back, catching his elbow, “I’m ready.”

Phil swallows a noise but nods and Clint leans forward to get back to work, Phil’s thighs are trembling and there’s some movement before a hand touches his hips again. Clint shifts, lifting slightly so Phil can push the chair in, there’s a scraping noise and he lowers carefully, letting Phil’s hand guide him. There’s a hot, thick feeling pressing into him and he keeps going until the burn finishes and he’s full, so full, perfectly full with Phil, hot and hard inside him. “Good?” he breaths.

“I need to,” Phil says, voice actually quavering.

“Yes,” Clint nods, “go on.”

Phil fucks up into him with controlled movements, it’s intense and even though he just came it feels pretty fucking good. Each sharp shove sends a burst of pleasure up his spine. It takes longer than Clint thought it might but Phil is confined to certain movements. When he does come, it’s with a strangled groan.

“Don’t pull out,” Clint says, “it might give us more time.”

Phil nods, resting his forehead in the hollow between Clint’s shoulder blades.

Clint keeps working.

Except when he needs to stop and then he braces his hands on the edge of the desk, spread wide and on each corner and eggs Phil on because he can’t take the little motions any more and Phil’s entire body is one tense line instead of one mildly satiated one.

“Fuck,” Clint mutters after the fourth, he’s almost done, but the sex is wiping him out. They’ve both chugged two bottles of gatorade and the lube has been reapplied twice. Each time he comes it gets just a little bit better. Clint’s actually a little afraid of the next one. Something about the serum maybe, but Clint isn’t even flagging, in fact, he’s getting more and more sensitive, where Phil had to put some effort behind it, now he just has to breath for it to feel good.

When they finally give in and fuck, the fifth one might knock them out.

“Ready?” Phil asks and Clint doesn’t blame him.

His hands are just about shaking with need and he’s glad all the delicate work is done because he couldn’t do anymore if he tried. “Almost,” Clint says, his voice a whisper because anything at all makes a bead of pleasure run through him toes to fingers.

“Okay,” Phil says, but Clint can feel the tension mounting.

Mounting. Heh. 

He’s losing it a little bit.

They’re pressed against each other by this point, continuous skin contact on all points possible, Phil’s hands have explored every inch of skin they can reach, caressing and gripping in alternating patterns, Clint has bruises everywhere, but they only make it better. Phil has sucked and gnawed on the skin under his mouth and there’s a spot on his back that now feels hyper-sensitized, which is impressive considering how the rest of him feels.

Phil’s body is slowly losing its grip, his rocking is ebbing from tiny to noticeable and Clint’s eyes want to roll back into his head. “Almost,” Clint whispers, “I promise.”

“I know,” Phil gasps, “I’m sorry, I’m trying.”

He is, Clint can tell, there are micro-tremors of restraint running through Phil’s thighs, they’re not like the shaking from the beginning, Clint can taste the emotion, the need on his tongue, it’s practically in the air. He pauses and takes a deep breath, there’s something odd happening, he knows it, the stuff running through their veins, it’s more than a hormone boost or whatever it’s called. “How much time?” Clint asks, taking a long gulp from his open bottle.

“Ninety minutes?” Phil guesses, hands twitching restlessly, he’s kissing random patches of skin again, “They’ll probably expect us to be nonsensical when they peek in, best time to move us.”

Clint nods, okay, so they can maybe take an hour to themselves and by then it should be wearing off enough that they won’t have to literally fuck their way to freedom. He hopes. In his hands are the last of the preparations that are possible to make in advance. He makes an effort to organize the chaos in front of him a little, it’s hard because his awareness of Phil has grown exponentially and if he doesn’t work really hard, Clint will lose his train of thought. He’s afraid when they let go, it’ll be hard to come back and he doesn’t want them to have to do more than necessarily.

Eventually, seconds later probably, but it feels like an eternity, he knows he’s stalling. There’s something on the horizon, sizzling between the two of them and it scares him.

“It’s okay Clint,” Phil says quietly, voice making him throb, “we’ll be okay.”

That he knows to say that worries Clint but he can’t seem to care anymore. So he nods, “Yeah, okay, now.”

Phil lets out a noise, a needy, thankful noise and stands, hoisting Clint up with him and, holy shit, his feet aren’t touching the ground. Phil’s arms are holding him up, like living bands of steel and his cock is still throbbing inside of Clint, barely sliding out as he’s taken a few feet to the nearest wall. They crash into it and Clint puts his arms up to brace them but before they’re even stable Phil moves.

Fuck. He moves.

It’s fast and frantic and all Clint wants is Phil closer, deeper, faster, harder, everything. One forearm stays braced on the wall, the other reaching back to guide Phil’s mouth down to his shoulder, his neck, anyplace because they’ve reached the point where all movement is basically nirvana and he never wants it to end.

Clint explodes, painting the wall and he actually has enough clarity to wonder at how there’s any spunk left in him at all but then Phil keeps moving and it feels just as amazing as before he came and when Phil comes a few thrusts later he feels it in his bones. Phil’s cock stays hard and perfect in his ass and now Clint is really certain something strange is happening.

Phil’s chest is heaving, sucking in air as fast as he can. “Okay?” he asks.

Clint takes inventory, his skin is sweat slick, his front is a mishmash of come stains, some flaking, some fresh, some in between, his back, shoulders to thighs, is pressed tightly against Phil and there’s god knows what dripping down his leg but he feels kind of awesome. “Think so?”

There’s a rustling and then some damp wiping and how on earth Phil held onto a packet of wet wipes Clint will never know. They rest, Phil leans against him, stroking hands up and down his sides. Phil’s already moving again, but it feels unplanned. Clint doesn’t mind, it feels good. He vaguely worries about being able to move tomorrow, but tomorrow is a long way off. They go back to fucking without talking, it just transitions from recovery to thrusting like a foot on an accelerator and they don’t stop again for almost an hour.

It’s almost like one long orgasm, everything ripples and shudders and even when they come it just keeps going, picking up from the last plateau, never waning, always climbing. By the end, Clint is whimpering with each thrust, practically coming each time Phil pushes in and they’re making dirty squelching sounds just under the quiet slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clint pants, “god, we have to—”

“Yes,” Phil grunts, “almost done, come on Clint, fuck, oh jesus fuck, I can’t believ—”

Phil practically seizes, grinding into Clint in the just the right way to spark something deep in his belly and it rises like a tidal wave engulfing him and he can’t believe they’re both still standing when it’s over. Though his limbs feel shaky and rubbery.

“It’s over,” Phil rasps, pulling out carefully.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, right on time too. They clean up a bit, Phil carefully moving Clint’s hand away from his ass and reaching all the places Clint can’t. Clint shrugs it off, at this point there’s not much mystery left anyway. God he wants a shower though. They both knock off two more gatorades and then carefully put themselves together.

Clint’s skin still feels hypersensitive, but not in the sex way anymore. Thank god. He moves to the table to start collecting their weapons. Phil joins him. One they’ve divided the spoils between them Clint looks up to give Phil a careful smile, but Phil has already turned away, back stiff. That’s when Clint realizes they haven’t actually looked each other in the eye since the penetration to end all penetrations. Jesus, his brain is a mess.

“Hey, Phil,” Clint says quietly, “c’mere.”

Phil does, but he’s busy looking down and fiddling with whatever is in his hands so Clint falls back on old favorite and touches Phil’s chin with his fingers, slowly tilting it up to him. “Everything okay?”

Phil’s eyes are closed off and distant and there’s a resolute firmness in his shoulders. Clint gets it, this was probably the exact opposite of what Phil likes for just about anything, completely out of control, messy and complicated. A little mess is easy, this was not, however, a little mess.

So Clint kisses him. Softly this time, because he can and because his lips are kind of swollen from biting down on them. Phil makes a noise, quiet and controlled, but he kisses back. When Clint gets another look at his eyes, they’re relaxed a bit and he nods positively at Phil who smiles briefly and nods back.

The escape is kind of anticlimactic considering all the hard work and sweat that went into planning it, but these guys looked really fucking surprised that he and Phil were upright and walking let alone not attached at the hip. So Clint almost feels bad for the kick to the nuts he gives each of them. Almost. He likes Phil a lot and doesn’t blame him but that _was_ basically rape and these assholes are the perpetrators.

They meet Natasha and the extraction team at the entrance and behind her Sitwell exchanges a $20 with Blake. Clint watches Phil eye them with fond irritation.

They put on a brave front but Natasha doesn’t look too fooled and the medic who takes their vitals asks the standard questions and when Phil spills out the ID code of the drug she puts it into the wrist computer, there are many, many drugs at SHIELD, even the most well trained doctor can’t remember them all, when the results come back her eyes go big and Clint can see the shift in care.

God they’re gonna make them go to psych. 

They’re shipped off back to the Triskelion, their injuries are mostly minor, but the drug means someone wants them to answer a million embarrassing questions and hook them up to every monitor they have for a few hours.

Hours later, after they’ve been swabbed, prodded, poked and sampled to death, they’re allowed to shower and eat and get comfortable. They’re even allowed pain killers fairly quickly for the general aches and strains, for which Clint is kind of grateful, he’s never had someone’s cock in him for four hours or so. He’s gonna need a donut for his apartment.

Eventually, they’re left alone in quiet corner of the med bay, Phil is pretending to sleep and Clint gives him that for a little while. He hadn’t lied, he is very fond of Phil but Clint knows it was a little different for Phil. A little more. It’s not Clint’s usual nightmare material, but he bets parts of it, the feeling out of control, the pounding of their hearts as their bodies demand things of them, that sort of thing, he knows that’s going to haunt Phil for a while.

“They’re gone,” Clint says after the last pair of nurses checks their vitals.

Phil’s eyes flutter open, but he stays laying down on his side. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“No problem,” Clint says. The quiet feels off. It shouldn’t be awkward. Well okay, being awkward is a fair response to this but damnit, it shouldn’t be awkward between them. “Hey Phil,” Clint says, already reaching out, “it’s gonna be okay.”

Phil’s mouth twitches up in acknowledgment.

Clint’s gesture connects. Their fingers brush against one another, but what was meant to be quick squeeze of fingers turns into something else. They both gasp, a single pang of something happy and delicate running through them.

Well shit. Clint’s wide eyes connect with Phil’s. This just got Clint’s type of messy after all.

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried okay? I tried to keep it short! I thought I picked a plot idea that wouldn't explode on me. 
> 
> *sigh*
> 
> In theory this could easily have a sequel, but there's a fairly long queue in front of it.


End file.
